


Love is a study in aesthetics

by Velvetcthulhu



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (2015)
Genre: Everyone Is Gay, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Getting Together, Multi, Pining, Poetic, Queer Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:34:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29289927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velvetcthulhu/pseuds/Velvetcthulhu
Summary: They travel and Ilya has some realizations
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin/Napoleon Solo/Gaby Teller
Kudos: 10





	Love is a study in aesthetics

It didn't take much for Ilya to feel the changes. After Berlin, it's like the three of them suddenly learnt the very same dance where they took step toward each other, then fretting away. Pictures of ballroom dancing that he had imagined in all the Jean Austen books Gaby had lent him swayed across his mind. He didn't think it's gonna be easy, no, he didn't think about it at all. He didn't think about both of his partners, a coy American who have opened a world of possiblities before him, a magic box with a flick of his wrist, and a short German who burned so bright. He pushed down his feelings for Solo and decided to focus on Gaby, but of course she saw through his bullshit immediately. And she didn't have any of it. She was the first Ilya discussed his feelings for Solo with, while sitting in front of her, her feet in his lap. They shared a delicate, treacherous bottle of wine, the blush painting a sunrise on Gaby's cheekbones, and making Ilya look even angrier than always. Solo was out, most likely chasing company. Ilya wished he would be there, in this soft bubble of their hotel room, sharing the wine and reciting poetry, and making everything feel softer with the warm, deep smell of his cologne. He had a stubborn furrow between his brows, and she leaned over to smooth the sharp, cliff-edge expression out. The soft, low, dreamy light of their hotel room in Italy caught on her golden necklance, making her even more the goddess she is, but the Russian didn't like to look too deep into her clasps beacuse it reflected his own sunken face back to him. Ilya was pulled back into reality when she sighed and cupped his face. "Ilya, liebling. It's okay, and i know you're not gonna believe me now, but it's totally okay." she leaned in even more, to kiss him softly. Ilya thought about the soft arch of her lipstick in the morning, then the soft arch of her neck. "Many people are attracted to men and women and all kinds of folks out of the gender binary. Many people love more than one romantically, and that's okay. I know that you don't love me less. And that you love 'Leon too. And yeah, i understand, the guy is pretty irresistable." she waggled her manicured eyebrows. They had a delicate arch too. "We're a team, and we all could use a little more love. Please, believe me later." with that, she kissed him on the nose, gathered her flat heeled sandals, and with the easy Summer breeze of her white dress and the gleaming of gold, she and the rest of the quivering, blood red wine have disappiered. Ilya sat there for a while, feeling like if all glittering wonder were taken out of the room with her, and even after he went to bed, her words swam in circles in his mind, just like how he used to swim, the slope of his strong body against clean, cool water, the echoing, seclural aesthetic of the white tiles, how everything seemed to disappier under the water. When he finally fell asleep, the cool, rumbling air of Soviet swimming pools replaced the heavy perfume and gold.  
°  
It would be sensationalist to say everything have changed suddenly. But Gaby's words took root in his mind, the way he saw all that grew in his mother's garden when he was very little. Next morning, he woke to Gaby sitting in the garden in a white bathrobe, reading the newspaper. In front of her, on a tiny white metal table, soft white cheese, butter, marmelade, toast, a coffe pot with delicate china and some fresh fruit laid. She was eating with vigor, her still wet hair put up with a towel. When he leaned down to kiss her, gripping the back of her chair, she pat him on the cheek. "Talk to Solo, Esel." He just harrumphed, the soft sunlight filtered through the trellis dancing on the sharp edges of his face. Ilya sat down across her, and started to nibble on some toast. It's gonna be hot during the day, they both felt it, that kind what makes the air sharp and the light cutting, but for now the pleasant early coolness of Summer mornings kept them safe. Solo, who usually woke up later(Beacuse he was a lazy decadent, Ilya said, and a lovable Schmuck, according to Gaby), kept this up this morning too: he waltzed out of the big, green, wide-open wooden door that led to their cool atrium, the one with carvings of flowers and vines Ilya was totally fascinated with, wearing only some gray and blue plaid shorts he slept in. They were tiny. Damn Americans and their tiny shorts. And their weird names that makes Ilya feel like he's spitting cotton out when he tries to pronounce it. Solo went up behind Gaby's chair, holding the back like Ilya did, and leaned down to kiss Gaby's cheek, who pushed her face up with a satisfied hum. Then this pompous American goes to Ilya, puts his hands on his shoulders, firm and gentle, and kisses the top of his head. Ilya felt himself flushing all the way down his chest, and the way Gaby cackled, no matter how hard he glared at her, it was obvious. They all knew his glare was just teasing, and Ilya felt it's turning him inside out: being known. And being loved for it. It's not something any of them had much of. So he turned his face up, until it was close, so close, and smiled. "Good morning, Cowboy." Solo looked down on him with something gentle and precious in his eyes, and after looking deeply into Ilya's eyes, he ran a hand over his blond hair, and the reddish strands where the sunlight touched it like now Napoleon does. "It's okay." the American breathed. "It's okay, Peril." and if neither of them knew for sure why he said it, they both felt like it's the most appropiate.   
°  
It came to bloom in another hotel in Innsbruck. It was unlike these luxury ones: this one was filled with both tourists and locals, and that made Ilya feel much better. There was something comforting about watching them mingle, and even if he could be hard pressed to converse, Gaby and Solo did enough of that and made sure to include him. Eating in the dining hall was like something out of an Agatha Christie crime novel, and there was always enough pillars for Ilya to take shelter behind. He refuses to call it hiding like Gabs and Solo teases him. "Our socially awkward polar bear." Napoleon said, wrapping his arms around Ilya's shoulder, and pulling him in. Suprisingly, at least he was suprised, Ilya let himself be pulled in, folding in half so he can rest his head on Solo's chest. Someone from the table next to theirs smiled at them, and Ilya scowled back, but they just laughed and turned back to their lunch. Gaby also smiled at them, gently, then flashed a smile at her boys too. "Hmmm." she purred, mysterious, looking back at the person close to the agents, taking them in. "I think i like them. Solo?" she raised and eyebrow, and the American laughed, shoving at her shoulders. "Go and get it, tiger." his eyes glittered with mirth. Ilya just turned his face beacuse he was blushing, and murmured about that she should go and have a good time, and maybe bring him a snowglobe as she planned a shopping trip in the city. After getting her fashionable fuzzy white coat, her white sunglasses and a sleek white purse that also included a small, sleek pistol, fixed her amber earrings that had a small communicatior in it, blew a kiss to the men and bid them goodbye. Solo looked down on Ilya who was very much trying to look like he's not cuddling with him. "What do you say that we sit down on the sofa, wrap ourselves us in a blanket and have one of our passionate debates about literature?" he pressed his grin into Ilya's hair.   
°  
Back in their room, Ilya did one of his tricks again and made himself fit on the sofa, curled up on his side, head in Solo's lap, who absent-mindedly played with his hair. The Russian have hogged all the blankets but these filthy capitalists deserve it. "Am not exaggerating!" he said, turning to his back and pushing both of his hands into the air. The debate had been going on for like 45 minutes, and they were both biting back and forth, but only playfully. Ilya was a bit ashamed to admit it keyed him up so much there was actually an empty, hungry feeling swirling in his stomach. He felt the same with Gaby: two beautiful, powerful people, caring him in a way no one else did before, but not afraid to poke him as well. Gently. Or it was Solo's face, flushed, his shirt showing his troath. A gentle, but strong arch. A Greek statue. Or the way his joy made his eyes glitter, his laughter ringing around the furnishing of their room. Doesn't matter what it was, it made Ilya want, want, want. Want to climb into Solo's lap. Wanting to have his shoulders pushed down by him, on his back, firm, gentle, firm. Gentle. Wanting to push against him with a frantic river crushing through his veins, moving fast. His mouth suddenly felt dry, and he sat up quickly, kicking down the covers. Solo, dear, deeply alive, suit-sharp Solo let him. Let him be, his smile small and knowing. Minutes passed, while Ilya tried to grip the echo in his breast. Napoleon finally spoke. "Are you okay?" he said, his voice no longer as smoky and sultry as it was. Now it was freshwater from a stream. "No." Ilya have answered. "Yes. No. Yes." he buried his face in his hands. Solo sighed. "Ilya, if i was pushy or anything..." he started, but his fellow agent cut him off. "No, you wasn't. I just...how you Americans have the saying? Chickened...out? Which is pathetic, beacuse no thing was happening." Ilya bit out, accent thick. Solo gently scooted closer, and giving him enough time to duck out if needed, put a hand on his forearm, sliding up and down. "Ilya, it's okay. If you're not ready. If you don't want me. If you don't want me like that. We, all three of us are old queers, but it doesn't mean we must be attracted to each other, or anyone, really. I'm glad to be your friend." he smiled, and Ilya raised his head. "What if i want you? So much, it scares me. I want to be...spoiled by you." he blushed. "And take care of you in return?" as he finished, Solo got even closer, sliding his other hand on his neck. "Then, come here, darling." he breathed on Ilya's lips, and they kissed once, twice, thrice. Ilya found himself on his back, and Solo talked about how he looked like a romantic painter's most beautiful dream. He talked about Ilya in a bed of flowers, him bathing by a stream, the gods envious, as Napoleon's teeth scraped the shell of his ear. Worship, worthy of the envious gods with Solo between his thighs, "thighs worthy dying for", according to the American. Ilya absolutely did not bit him on the neck as he bowed over him for that comment. His body, arching with pleasure, worshipping back. "You're so beautiful." Solo grunted out. "So, so beautiful. If you don't watch out, i will steal you beacuse you're just simply too beautiful." he growled in his ear, and Ilya dug a heel in his back, pulling him closer. "I dare you, is your stamina strong as your tongue, Solo?" he growled back, and the serenity of wildflower fields bled into a recklessness of passionate young gods chasing each other under a canopy of trees.  
°  
Gaby got back a few hours later, also pretty pleased and sated. With a snowglobe, of course. "Hi boys, so i got their number, and...oh." she stopped in her tracks, even forgetting to take down her left shoe beacuse of the, very pleasant, shock. Ilya was asleep on his stomach, white sheets around his waist, mop of blond hair and his wide, strong back. Solo laid next to him, languid in a silk robe that made him even more naked then he would be without, softly smiling down at him, loving eyes following the trails his fingertips drew around the moles and scars. "Welcome home." he grinned, mischiveous, and Gaby grinned back. "So he finally pulled his ass out of his...ah, ich möchte ein Getränk. I don't have time for bullshit English sayings." Solo gently came to her, making sure he didn't disturb Ilya, and wrapped his arms around her waist. "Care to join me?" he whispered, but she playfully swatted him away. "I'm still feeling pleasant enough and neither of us are as young as we used to be. But i don't mind joining you two later." she winked, and slithered away to get her drink, swaying her hips for Solo and grinning to herself.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a mess, but this is how we roll. Five aesthetics glued together 😎🤙🏻 - Roland


End file.
